There weren’t many who enjoyed staying in a sealed, cramped cockpit for hours on end, but Jakob Teller was one of those people. He stretched, as best he could, pressing his toes almost through the tough leather pilot boots he wore. His hands coming back onto the controls of the Incom-Freitek T-70 X-Wing, his eyes tried to close, but the brightness of light speed kept them from going all the way. It had been a long mission, the series of patrols that Green Squadron had been on, but that didn’t mean that Green Squadron hadn’t been up to par. Even if most of their missions these days were nothing but patrols. Jakob wished for more for his squadron mates. Not from a sense of glory or honor, but from a sense of doing things that needed to be done. After all, there was a lot of work to be accomplished around the galaxy, even if Endor had been twenty eight long years ago.

Not that Jakob could remember what had happened at Endor. He hadn’t been born yet, though his mother often complained that with vicious kicks to her stomach, he had made his opinion on the Emperor being dethroned rather well stated. His father had fought at Endor, with the rest of Green Squadron. Back then they had been one of the ace squadrons of the Rebel Alliance. Star Destroyer captains feared finding out that Green Squadron was on the scene.

Because few things were as beautiful as Green Squadron successfully completing yet another Trench Run Boogie on an ISD. It had even been turned into a song, by Danny and the Droids on their hit album Sparkplugs and Powerpacks, released shortly after the Battle of Endor.

Now, they were still aces, but their targets were slow, lumbering herds of freighters on different trade routes, that got scanned for contraband. Jakob remembered the stories his father used to tell him of Green Squadron being the ones with the contraband and being on the run from the Imperials. Things had changed. But one thing hadn’t changed in years. A Teller always on the roster. His father had never been the commander of the squadron, and Jakob had joined the squadron when he had turned eighteen, slowly rising up through third flight, and then second flight, until finally, a few short months ago, it seemed, he had been given command of the squadron.

Words scrolled across one of his monitors.

Bro, we’ve been in hyperspace for like ever. This is ridiculous.

“You’re the one who plotted the hyperspace course for the squadron. Don’t get annoyed with me.”

His astromech was a BB unit, factory designated as BB-M8. The older Teller had gotten his son the droid when Jakob had joined the New Republic, and Jakob had planned on calling the droid “Beebs” but Mate had specifically informed Jakob that his name was “Mate” and if anyone called him anything different, he’d go droid shit on them. While Jakob had never been precisely sure what “going droid shit” on someone entailed, he was fairly certain that he didn’t want to find out, though he was more mystified by two things. How Mate had learned such a threat, and the sheer number of times that Mate had threatened to do that to people and the threat had worked.

You have to go lift when we get back. You’ve missed some gym days, bro.

The only thing more annoying about Mate’s constant use of the term “Bro” was his incessant need for Jakob to go to the gym and work out. His father had had the droid programmed specifically to take care of Jakob, but somewhere, some wires had been crossed in a bad way.

“I’ll go lift when we get back. Calm down.” Jakob replied.

Found a new protein mix. Should be epic.

“I hate you.”

Mad hostile again. Not feeling it.

Jakob sighed as the hyperspace reversion alarm started to beep.

He threw the switch and his T-70 dropped out of hyperspace. Arrayed around him was the rest of Green Squadron, and he did a quick roster call to make sure that everyone had successfully made the trip. No one’s beacons had gone off during the light speed run, but Jakob had a responsibility to his squadron mates, one that he took very seriously. Before them in space hung one of the many ships that made up the Red Dagger Fleet, and the vessel that Green Squadron called home. The Red Dagger Fleet was a legacy fleet of sorts, one that had been in a number of battles and conflicts over the years. Present at the Battle of Endor, the fleet had fought with Green Squadron to take down the Empire, and Jakob was proud that Green Squadron was still attached to the fleet after all these years.

The fleet was in docking for right now, undergoing repairs as everyone had some down time for rest and relaxation. Almost immediately, he was hailed from the dock, and he had a good idea who would be calling. It was one of only two people.

“How did the patrol go?” Commander Tor’an MacQuillian asked.

“Everything went fine. How’s the rookie doing?”

“I’m convinced that Damus ordered particular foods to be served on the menu to make the punishment worse.” Tor’an replied and Jakob laughed.

“That sounds like something Damus might do if he got a tuft of fur out of place. Old man takes things very seriously.”

There was a genial tone in Tor’an’s voice. “Well, you’ve known him for most of your life, so there shouldn’t be a surprise by that.” Mac was one of the older officers, who had been with Damus for a long time. Mac and Teller often times found themselves ducking the ire of the easily annoyed Bothan admiral who commanded the Red Dagger Fleet.

“I think I’ve known him my entire life. He helped get my father to the delivery room, after all.”

“Did he have any disappointment that you were furless?” Tor’an asked.

“None that he’s expressed publicly.”

Bro, show him the holo. It’s totes awesome.

“Mate wants me to show you this great holo that I think sums up my relationship with Admiral Damus.” Jakob said. “I don’t think I’ve ever shown you the birthday holo.”

“Please. I’m begging you here. There’s only so many times I can give people orders to clean things.”

“I was five.” Jakob replied, pulling up the holo himself to look at it. It was a short video, maybe no more than twenty seconds long. Set at a children’s birthday party, and recorded from the perspective of Jakob’s father’s holorecorder, it showed a mild look of fear and shock roll over Damus’ face as a young Jakob Teller went running into the Admiral’s arms. Clearly against Damus’ wishes, of course. Damus went with the natural decision, picking up the small child, who, at that point in time, had his hands covered in some form of sticky chocolate. The very end of the holo showed that Jakob had gone with his natural decision, giving the furred Bothan Admiral a hug, sticky hands and all.

“Please let me put this on the unit message boards.”

“I think he ordered all the copies destroyed, but Dad saved one.” Jakob said. “As you can tell, I’m clearly Damus’ favorite.” He said. “Speaking as Damus’ favorite, do you know when we’re supposed to get our next orders? You know Green Squad hates to sit around and do nothing. That’s how New Republic Defense Enrollment Eligibility Reporting System gets new kids in the system.” He added, as they got close and closer to the hangar.

“Funny you mention that. I’ve gotten a message saying the Old man wants to talk.”

“I’m coming.”

“Private meeting. Non-Green Squadron members only.”

“We didn’t vote on that.” Jakob said.

“You didn’t not vote on it either. Abstaining from your democratic duties does not become you all.”

“Now you’re just giving me fighting words. I will destroy all the other squadrons in flight simulators for this. It’ll be your fault.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just let me know what hangar you all are meeting up in, so I can tell you what Damus says.”

Two lone figures walked along the airlock cylinder from the dock to the newly arrived Republic Star Destroyer Harm's Way, that had just recently been involved in a 6 month patrol tour of the Hosnian System. The tour was semi-uneventful, much to the crews disappointment, but minor forays by some suspected Pirate ships and various inspections of suspicious ships entering the system just didn't quite wet the appetites for adventure and excitement that was hoped for.

This was especially true for members of the Green Squadron, who's long and distinguished tenure with the Republic, and their exploits and re-telling of their exploits during the tour caused some members to have dreams of glory and excitement. Such as when a Bothan Diplomatic frigate had entered the system with its comm system damaged and could not send out the proper authorization codes. A rookie member of the squadron, which was sent out to intercept the ship, almost fired upon it for not responding to orders to shut down its engines. It was only the quick thinking of Commander Jakob Teller, who had to 'bump' the rookie's X-Wing with his own that prevented a serious incident with the Bothans. The Admiral had assigned that rookie to clean out all the ion vents of every single ship in the fleet for the remainder of the tour.

But as with all things, the tour finally came to an end, and Harm's Way was being emptied of crew and supplies for a long overdue R and R for all. At least for most, that is, as the two figures on the dock's walkway stopped mid-way and were looking out the portals at the various ships zipping back and forth between the massive ship, relieving her on its supplies and various droids making minor repairs along her hull after such a long tour.

"So, when do we go back out Admiral Damus?" Commander To'ran MacQuillian asked as his striking emerald green eyes, and slightly graying scruff of a bearded face looked at the busy work going on outside the walkway's portal. "I can guarantee that that Green Leader Teller will want to know."

The yellow-haired Bothan standing next to To'ran, in his Republic Admiral's brown tinted uniform, let out a warbling growl, which was the Bothan equivalent to a chuckle, with his feral-like teeth gleaming between his jowls. "The Commander sent me a comm message 15 minutes before the Harm's Way even docked, asking me that very same question."

To'ran returns the chuckle. "Well, Jakob isn't known for being too patient when it comes to preparing for the next assignment. He'll probably have us in Flight Sims for 90% of our downtime." He smiles. "Which isn't a bad thing."

To'ran turns and looks at Damus, hearing that familiar tone of seriousness in his voice. Damus continues looking out the viewport, seemingly to be watching the activities beyond, but his golden Bothan eyes are fixed in place, staring not at the ships and droids, but at some future that lies beyond the vast darkness of the void beyond.

To'ran turns to face the Admiral. "Admiral?"

The Bothan turns his head and looks up to the Commander, a serious gleam washes across his eyes before he speaks. "Commander, you have been with Red Dagger Fleet as my XO since Endor when Commander Teller's father was leading Green Squadron. Commander Jakob then took over after his father retired shortly there after. Both of you have grown into one of the finest Command and Flight team I've ever known, and have served with great distinction and poise under the most dire of circumstances. I would go so far as to say that both of your actions together and in separate engagements were vital to where we are today."

"Admiral I..." To'ran begins, but is cut off by the Admiral with a wave of his clawed hand.

"Shut up Commander." Damus fairly growls in irritation, hating humans for their humbleness on occasions. "As you know, the leaders of our Republic have been cutting military funding for years now, and it is only a matter of time before..." Damus pauses, staring intently into the Commander's eyes. "...before our enemies will take advantage of it. Senator Scendi is watching us like a Jawa waiting for a ship to crash on their world so they can strip it bare and sell for profit."

To'ran looks at Damus with a confused expression. "Admiral, you can't possibly think that the Republic would be foolish enough..."

"They are...and they will!" Damus snarled the interruption. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "My apologies Commander, I am getting old and more irritable with age. But you have to know the 'truth'...or at least my suspicions."

For long moments the human and Bothan stood in the walkway. Damus flailed his hands from time to time, while To'ran looked on with mixed expression of shock and dismay as he listened. After some time, both stood quiet with Damus looking up at To'ran, and To'ran looking over the Bothan's shoulder, with wide shocked eyes, at what he has just been told.

"You have something in mind...don't you?"

Damus nods in return and then pulls a small ornate box from his uniform pocket. "And it starts with these."

To'ran almost refuses to take the box, but does. He hesitates for several moments. He musters the courage and opens it and finds the golden rank insignia's of a Captain gleaming back at him. He looks up from the box and into the yellow eyes of the Admiral.

"Tell me your plan Admiral."

Again for long moments, the two stand in the walkway, this time To'ran listens closely, nodding on occasion and both briefly changing the subject if a droid or some personnel happened to walk by. After Damus finishes, To'ran nods solemnly, crisply salutes the Admiral and goes in search of Jacob.

"This stinks," the young rookie, Jessica Sterling, complained as she leaned halfway into the ion vent of a Republic shuttle to scrub it by hand. Behind her the little BB unit known as Nimbus whistled something in droid speak.

"No, I don't mean the shuttle," Jessica replied, "I'm talking about our mission. I joined the academy to fight the First Order not babysit diplomats or chase smugglers."

Nimbus shifted slightly and bumped the ladder she was standing on which caused the ladder to move and Jess to lose her footing. She yelped in surprise but somehow managed to hang onto the ion vent and prevent herself from falling. "Nimbus! Move that ladder back! Nimbus!"

There was no response, the droid had gone off to parts unknown and left her. Meanwhile Jess was hanging from the shuttle's ion vent about twenty feet off the ground. "Hello," she cried out, "Anyone there?"

Still no response. Jessica shifted slightly to try and get a better look but when she slipped and nearly lost her grip she stopped. She screamed again but still managed to hold on, panting heavily. Blast it, when I get my hands on that droid, she thought to herself. Jessica had the unfortunate duty to clean out every ion vent of every ship for almost the entire tour after she nearly fired on a ship full of Bothan diplomats. The ship hadn't been responding to hails and was headed straight for Hosnian Prime. Jess thought her response was well warranted but obviously the Admiral felt differently. She also suspected he was taking it personally because the ship was filled with Bothans but she had no evidence to support that.

Giving up on calling for help she tried climbing into the ion vent, but as soon as she shifted her weight her hands slipped and she fell. The ground came up remarkably fast and she yelled in surprise but what happened next surprised even her. Without really thinking about it she reacted by collapsing her weight into a roll, absorbing the shock by relaxing her knees and converting the fall into forward momentum. As soon as she completed the roll, however, she fell flat on her face, but at least she made it through without breaking a leg.

It was times like these, sitting inside the cramped cockpit of the T-70, that Otsoa wondered just how many hours of his life had been spent traveling at faster than light speeds. The Urmaellian didn't dare voice the thought out loud, however, for as soon as he did his trusty R6 unit would surely spout off a painstakingly accurate running tally and ruin the mystique of the unknown. Otsoa flexed his left hand into a fist, then released the tension... An old battle wound that only seemed to act up in the vastness of space anymore.

"Lon, be a pal and increase the humidity a bit, would you?" he asked, voice deep but also oddly melodious.

The Harms Way possesses a state of the art Infirmary that could easily test and prescribe medication to treat you, you know The series of beeps and whistles translated across a screen in front of Otsoa.

"For the hundredth time Lon, it is not that serious."

Try 367th time, but who's counting.

Otsoa remained silent for several seconds. "So are you going to up the humidity or no--" He stopped as he saw the percentage slowly rising on one of the dials. "Thank you Lon."

********************************

30 seconds to reversion...

"Thirty seconds mark." Otsoa replied, sitting up straighter in the harness, eyes glancing around at the instruments as the time counted down.

.... Do a barrel roll.

"Lon we are not going to do a barrel roll." Otsoa gripped the maneuvering stick as the seconds counted down.

I'm just saying it'd be a lot cooler if we did. 9 seconds.

The counter clicked over to zero and the X-wing snapped back into realspace, the chaos of hyperspace fracturing into elongated starlines and then to individual pinpricks of distant light. Otsoa reached for the comms to respond to Green One's rolecall but before his fingers could find purchase the stick went dead in his hand and his craft executed a double barrel roll.

"Satisfied?" Otsoa demanded, the fin-like seinale on either side of his head flaring in slight irritation, as control returned to his stick.

Cooler than you are.

**********************************

The hatch popped open above him and Otsoa removed his helmet before standing. He set the helmet atop his instrument panel and ran a gloved hand back over his forehead ridge, flexing his headtail first left, then right, then left again. His eyes scanned the scene of the hangar around him keenly. Pilots were in varying states of disembarking their starfighters, technicians of all fields hustling about between the ships, securing them to the hangar floor, attaching fuel lines and logging any maintenance related tasks that might have come up during or after the patrol.

The Urmaellian's seinale rippled in the form of a grin, and he reached for the ladder and found his way to the hangar deck. R6-L1 was waiting for him at the bottom of the ramp, a small metal tube extended from a compartment in the droids flowerpot shaped orange dome.

"Thanks Lon." Otsoa said as he grabbed and opened the tube, putting the cigar into his mouth he bent down on one knee as the droids torch wielder extended and lit the stogie. The blue-green skinned Urmaellian puffed out a large cloud of smoke directly into the droids radar eye, illiciting a long string of bleeps and blatts. "That's for the barrel roll. Come on, let's see if we can get out of here before anyone drops that 'debriefing' word."

"Courage is not simply one of the virtues, but the form of every virtue at the testing point." - C. S. Lewis

To'ran sat alone in the Captain's private meeting room behind the desk. Lying on the table were his Captain Insignias which he had yet to put on his uniform, as his mind was still reeling from what the Admiral had told him. After several minutes Jax stepped into the room, his still boyish face smiling from ear to ear, and hopped up on the edge of the table.

"So, did the Admiral Furball chew you out for pitching woo with the Twi'lek chick on Hosnian Prime while in uniform, or..." He stopped when he saw the Captain's insignia's lying on the table in front of him. "Holy Bantha shit! If I would have known, I would have been banging every Twi'lek between here and Coruscant! I'd be a kriffing Admiral by now!" Jax laughed at his own jest for a moment longer before he finally noticed the look on To'ran's face, and the fact that he wasn't laughing with him. "What?" Some concern now crossed even Jakob's face. "Are they sending you to another fleet?"

To'ran's emerald eyes stared at the insignias for a moment longer before he looked up at Jakob. "It's a lot worse than that." To'ran replied sullenly. To'ran then began telling him all that he had been briefed by Admiral Damus. Much like To'ran's reaction when Damus was telling him, Jax's reaction was even more so."

"You've got to be kriffing kidding me. You...he...can't be serious!" Jakob said utter stunned. He got up from the edge of the table and suddenly began pacing back and forth in front of the desk. "Is he sure about this?"

"Has the old Furball been wrong before?" To'ran replied.

This caused Jax to stop pacing, and look at To'ran. "No..."

"I can't...we...can't do this without you Jax. The Admiral needs you, kriff...'I' need you. This whole thing doesn't go off without the Mean Green. If we don't, and we wait too long, it will be too late when it finally happens and then we'll all be in the Bantha House. If we're right...well..." This time when Jax looked at him, the old To'ran smirk creased his lips. "Then, we can do some things that will 'truly' make a difference. What do you say?"

It was Jax's turn to smile, one that made most commanders cringe because they knew he was about to do something that they would never approval of. "Let's get this party started."

"Call the rest of Green to the Flight Ops Room, tell them to keep it quiet and get there as quick as they can. I'll seal off the room so we won't be interrupted." Stood from his chair and then turned back to Jax. "Oh, and by the way, keep that damned Beach Ball you call a droid out of the Flight room, I don't want it making a holo of the meeting, like he did with me and the Twi'lek."

“Where is my brother?” Maetay asked a security guard who was walking in the hallway.

The security guard was annoyed. He had been assigned to the Red Dagger Fleet as punishment for misconduct- but that was five years earlier, and he was still there.

Guarding the docking bays weren’t the issue. It was the hotshot pilots that got under his skin. They thought they were better than everyone else. They thought they were special.

Green Squadron was no different. Always telling the stories of long ago. To him, they weren’t even doing anything special. A few scouting and diplomatic escort missions, that was all. Yet they would walk around the place like they owned it.

“Maetay,” the guard said, not wanting to answer her, but also not in the mood to get reprimanded for failing to be respectful, “Your brother is in the Cantina again.”

“Thank you, um…” Maetay paused, holding her hand up as if she was going to say something more.

“Garett, the name’s Garrett.” The guard tightened his fist and began walking away.

I didn’t mean to upset him. Why couldn’t you just tell me where you were? Maetay thought to herself.

As if from inside her, she heard her twins voice, I’m sorry, not yet. I’m on a role.

Maetay began running towards the cantina. She could feel her brother, Tyköl, feeling unsure. With each step she could feel an intensity inside of her. Her heart was racing, she felt sweat trickle down her forhead.

As she turned neared the entrance of the Cantina, she could hear voices yelling.

“I know you cheated,” A large man said to Tyköl, “Show me your sleeves theif.”

The man banged his fist on the pazaak table. “You won’t walk away with my money.”

The large man grabbed Tyköl and began lifting him off the ground. As he lifted him, he felt the barrel of a blaster press against the back of his head.

“If he won the hand,” Maetay spoke while shaking her head towards a smiling Tyköl, “Then he won the money. Accept your losses and walk away.”

“He cheated.” The man said, refusing to take his eyes off Tyköl.

“If you didn’t catch him—” Maetay was interrupted.

“And he didn’t. Sis, I swear I wasn’t cheating.”

“Like I said, if you didn't catch him, then you don’t know if he was cheating.” Maetay lowered her blaster. As she did, the large man set Tyköl down.

“Let’s go.” Tyköl said, in a hurry to leave. He didn’t catch me.

Maetay looked at her brother with furrowed eyes. So you did cheat. That’s why your heart was racing so fast.

Maetay and Tyköl walked for several minutes and walked passed the hall leading to their quarters.

“Hey, Mae, where are we going?”

“Jax wants all of us to meet him. He said it was important.”

Last edited by Enriler on Fri Apr 29, 2016 8:21 am, edited 4 times in total.

Jessica pulled herself up off the floor and began dusting herself off. Soon after she heard someone clapping and turned to see one of the techs coming over to her. "Damian," she muttered under her breath.

"Graceful as always, Jess," he said and he stopped clapping as he walked closer to her. "Did you learn that in the circus, also?"

"It wasn't a circus, Damian," Jess said with a roll of her eyes then she started looking around for the scrubber she'd been using. After not seeing it on the floor anywhere around her she realized she must have left it inside the ion vent of the shuttle. "Anyway, what do you want?"

Jess had just finished moving the ladder back into place and was climbing it again to recover her tools. "If this about a debriefing I didn't go on the patrol. Admiral grounded me, remember?"

Damian smiled, "Right, the uh--diplomat incident. I heard about that."

"No IFF, no coms. How was I supposed to know who they were." She pulled the tools out of the vent and started climbing down from the ladder.

"Clearly, it was just a misunderstanding, right."

"Exactly," Jess agreed.

Damian nodded, "Yeah, you have a lot of those. Like the time you led your patrol through an asteroid field. Or the time you buzzed the tower so close the sheer force of your passing knocked over the Admiral's caf or the time you..."

"Alright, I get it," Jess interrupted him.

"Point is you take a lot of risks, Jess, and it's a wonder you haven't gotten hurt or killed. Maybe you should, I don't know, try following orders for once?"

Then he left without saying another word leaving a puzzled Jessica standing alone beneath the old Republic shuttle. A moment later she heard a whistle from behind and Nimbus rolled up in front of her. "Well you were no help," she said, chiding the purple astromech droid.

Nimbus let out a confused whistle and Jessica glared at him. "The ladder! You moved the blasted ladder! Did you even know I was in trouble?"

Nimbus whistled again.

"Well of course I'm fine now but I--," she never got to finish the statement before Nimbus interrupted her with a series of beeps and whistles that sounded like impatience before rolling off towards the turbolift. Sighing Jess left her tools sitting on a nearby crate and followed him.

"Any idea what this debriefing is about," she asked him and Nimbus whistled that he had no idea. "Great," she muttered to herself as the turbolift doors closed behind her...

There was a certain comforting chaos to be found amongst the flight deck of a large cruiser. This was the place where starfighters nested and were repaired, pilots came and went, transports delivered cargo, mechanics and service droids made their rounds like tending physicians, and at anytime of the day or night, there was always something happening.

This was the place was where Vaylen felt most at home. It was noisy, the air smelled of exhaust and coolant despite the scrubbers' best efforts, and every so often, the PA would blare loudly to announce various arrivals or departures. Yet despite the noise, despite the churning personnel, despite the poor air quality, here is where he could really calm his mind and bring his focus to bear.

And focused he was at this particular moment. With the contents of the number two starboard engine's Throttle Relay Controller disassembled and scattered across a mobile workbench set up next to his X-Wing, the rest of the galaxy had ceased to exist for Vaylen. All that was for him was the question why: why was there a sluggish .20 second delay between throttle input and Starboard 2 engine response? It was the why questions that always got him.

A tremor ran up Vaylen's heavily tattooed right lekku, a sign of mild irritation. It was always the why questions.

Why am I here?

That was a questions that had pinged around in his brain for weeks, like a small stone bouncing in a turbine that simply could not find its way out. The question was especially vexing because on the intellectual level, he knew exactly why he was here. And with that question and answer, the galaxy slowly started trickling into his mind again.

As an emancipated slave who felt something of an unofficial debt to the New Republic for liberating him from the backwater Imperial world of Tressun, it was only natural he would seek to serve in the armed forces in some capacity. And as a hell of a pilot who thrived under the stress and intensity of combat, it was only natural he would find his way in to an outfit like Green Squadron. But that was an emotional answer, he was here because he wanted to be, because he felt he needed to be.

Intellectually, the question was harder, because there were better options. Any number of smuggler cartels would have paid handsomely for his skills, and made good use of those skills. Even many private governments could have afforded to give him a good life in exchange for his skill set, so it was not money nor creed that kept him here, for he had enough of both to be happy.

No, his internal existential question rose from a more immediate variable: the rise of boredom. When Vaylen chose the company of biological life over those of mechanical life, he heard murmurs of similar sentiment leave the lips of other squadmates and members of the fleet: it was as though someone was funneling top tier personnel and equipment into a task force, and then leaving that task force idle, doing the work of neophytes. Maybe there was a purpose behind it, but all Vaylen could see was the mounting boredom both in himself and in the other squadron members.

Boredom did not beget well behaved soldiers, and even the simulator could not abate that boredom forever.

Still, Vaylen didn't voice his opinion often or loudly. Opinions were seldom were welcomed and even more seldom needed. Instead, he focused on the one thing he trained for more than even flying, and that was tending to his friend: his ship.

"Ratter, get your eye over here."

A BB Astromech rolled over from where it had been jacked into a console, going over scans and specs of the ship. It spoke in a very slow Binary, slow enough that Vaylen could understand what it said.

"Find problem? Diagnostic say no system fault." Though the droid spoke in its slowed down beeps and boops, even using the truncated sentences that it chose, the Binary phrase was still a rather long string of noise.

"I don't know that it would. If I'm looking at this correctly..." The Twi'lek pilot pointed one deeply tanned finger at a circuit board on the work bench. "There's a small crack on the main relay board, small enough that it arcs once the voltage is high enough. So when the throttle input is low, or at the beginning of the acceleration cycle, it doesn't even register until the voltage builds. Look, you can see the scorch marks from the arc."

Ratter rolled forward, living up to his almost-name by emitting a rattling noise from inside himself every time he moved. A delicate probe appeared from a compartment with impressive precision, touching the circuit board, and sparking current down it. There was a loud snap as the current arced on the board in the spot Vaylen was pointing at, prompting him to withdraw his hand quickly with a scowl.

"You could warn me next time."

Ratter let his opinion be known in response to that statement: "Warning poor substitute for caution. You right, board cracked. Feedback processor burned is why system say no fault."

Vaylen was about to reply to this when an MSE series droid approached him, spitting out a brief holographic message.

"On the way." Vaylen said, nodding to the droid in acknowledgement. "Thank you." The MSE droid bleeped something to him in Binary, but it was too fast for him to catch. Something about just doing its job.

"Usually, they don't mean droids when they say personnel. Can you stay here and make sure the techs get this part replaced and get her put back together right? They're good around here, but that doesn't mean I trust them not to make mistakes."

Ratter beeped an acknowledgement.

The tall Twi'lek, stood and stretched, catching sight of one of his fellow squadmates, Jess, disappearing into the turbolifts leading up. It seemed others had already gotten the message, from one source or another. He absently patted Ratter on the head, then headed towards the turbolift. He was still clad in his dirty mechanic overalls, but the message said "immediately" and that probably didn't mean "immediately after having a shower, changing clothes and relaxing for a little while".

Hopefully, this would be more than just another debrief or pep talk about the dangers of complacency.

By the time Jess arrived at Flight Ops half the squadron was already assembled. There was some slight murmuring from inside the room as pilots were beginning to wonder why they were assembled. Jess had tried to poke her head inside but before she could step one foot into the room she was blocked by one of the ship's guards. "Green Squadron personnel only," the man said, eyeing the BB unit at her feet.

"Nimbus is Green Squadron personnel," Jessica insisted and as if to emphasize her point Nimbus whistled something very rude.

"I have my orders, Ma'am. No droids." The guard didn't seem to react to or even understand what Nimbus had said about him.

"And I have a history of not following orders, sooo...," she tried to push her way through but the guard held fast.

"Please, Ma'am, don't make this--Aah!" He cried after Nimbus had shocked him with his welding torch. Nimbus threatened him with it again and the guard quickly backed away. "Control your droid," he said.

Jess just shrugged. "I don't tell Nimbus what to do."

The guard looked at her pleadingly. "I'm sorry, Ma'am, but the Captain's orders were very specific," he told her.

"Captain Teller ordered all droids out of the room?" Jessica found that hard to believe.

"Not Teller, Ma'am, Captain To'ran."

"Wait, 'Captain' To'ran," Jessica asked, last she checked he was just a Commander. Now he's a Captain? Whatever this meeting was for it was serious. Finally she knelt down next to Nimbus. "Why don't you wait outside on this one," she said quietly.

Nimbus whistled something in protest and she held up a hand. "I know, I know and I'll make it up to you later. Just do this for me, just this once. Please?"

Nimbus let out a long string of whistles and beeps but finally rolled off in the other direction. Jess stood and gave the guard a hard look until he finally stepped out of her way. With a roll of her eyes she entered the briefing room and found her seat. Nimbus was not going to be happy about missing this meeting and she really didn't like the idea of leaving him out of it. Despite the constant pranks he played on her the two of them were very close. It was a running gag in the squadron that Jessica preferred the company of droids to people and that was probably true. People have a tendency to ask too many questions and Jess hated giving answers. No one else needed to know why she was here. Nimbus knew and that was enough...

The shuttle touched down in one of the hangars. Jaclen looked out the viewport she sat by. She was excited and scared at the same time.

Jaclen Markai was the newest member of the famed Green Squadron – or she would be, once she reported for duty. Her scores were generally average, but she had consistently outmatched her classmates at the Academy in the flight simulator. Imagine her surprise when she read her name next to Green Squadron on the duty roster after graduation.

The engines shut down and the ramp lowered, and Jaclen grabbed her duffel bag and headed down the ramp. She looked around. The hangar was filled with all sorts of spacecraft. Her eyes were drawn to the collection of T-70 X-Wings parked in the opposite end of the hangar. She had only had 20 hours of actual flight time, and she couldn't wait to get into one of those birds.

Her train of thought was interrupted by an NCO.

“Flight Officer Markai?”

She nodded in response. He saluted her, and she returned the salute.

“Welcome on board, sir. I am to inform you that Green Squadron is gathering in Flight Ops. You are to proceed there immediately.”

Jaclen smiled.

“Thank you, Sergeant. Could you give me directions?”

It turned out to be relatively easy to find, and after thanking the NCO again, Jaclen was on her way. Even so, she still got lost twice, and had to ask for directions. Eventually, she found the room. She inched inside, and took the chair furthest back, waiting for the meeting to begin. She intended to introduce herself to her CO after the meeting was over.

Flight Officer Alek Riven stumbled out of his quarters, pulling on one boot as he went, while trying his best to keep his balance; he was going to be late. With the boot secured, he zipped up his freshly laundered flight suit and hurried towards the briefing room. After their long patrol Alek had taken advantage of the squadron’s brief downtime by grabbing what little sleep he could, followed by a short but refreshing shower and a shave. Unfortunately he had lingered slightly too long in the fresher and now ran the risk of being the last member of the squadron to attend the briefing.

The mystery briefing, he silently amended. This was more than the standard debrief, he felt it in his gut.

As he neared the flight opps room the sound of raised voices reverberated down the corridor and rounding the corner he was confronted by an angry Wookie gesturing furiously at the armed Guard on duty outside the briefing room.

“Pleasure droid?” the battered red RA-7 droid interrupted from beside the Wookie. “I can assure you sir, I have no such programming and even were I so programmed, I am not personally acquainted with the Vice Chancellor.”

The tall Wookie turned to glare at the droid then shook his head in disbelief before letting out a series of low growls.

“Oh, well how was I to know he wasn’t being serious?” the droid, B3-GG – more commonly known as Bugg – twisted to look up at the Wookie accompanied by a whine of servomotors.

“That is correct,” Bugg agreed, “I am fluent in six million forms of communication, however sarcasm is not among those six million. I shall make arrangements to rectify this at the first opportunity.”

Wrench sighed and shook his shaggy head.

“Gentlebeings,” Alek greeted them as he approached. “There a problem?”

“Ah, Flight Officer Riven, I am so very glad you are here,” Bugg’s voice seemed to carry a note of relief. “It appears I am to be prohibited entry to this briefing. Master Wrench was just voicing his displeasure with the arrangement.”

“Displeasure?” Alek raised an eyebrow.

The Wookie growled and then gave them a big toothy smile. Alek didn’t need to be able to speak Wookie to understand that one. If Wrench truly had been displeased then there was no way the Guard would have remained standing.

“Captain’s orders,” the Guard repeated for Alek’s sake. “You got a problem, take it up with him. This isn’t the first droid I’ve had to turn away today.”

“Maybe Bugg should wait outside?” Alek suggested.

Wrench glared at him.

“At least until we get this sorted with the Captain,” he hastily amended. He didn’t want Wrench angry with him.
The Wookie made a show of considering it them reluctantly whuffed his acknowledgement before elbowing his way past the Guard and into the briefing room.

“Wait out here for now,” Alek gently put his hand on Bugg’s metallic shoulder. “I’m sure this wont’ take long.”

With that he followed the Wookie into the room, leaving Bugg and the Guard together. The last thing he heard before the briefing room door shut behind him was Bugg’s voice addressing the Guard, “I am curious about something. How do you know the Vice Chancellor has a pleasure droid..?”

The twins slipped into the briefing room, taking up two seats about halfway from the back. It was a compromise - one usually wanted to sit in the back, the other in the front. Mae flicked back the long whip of her braid over her shoulder so that it lay like a black stinger down her spine. She usually wore it this way, another compromise between the vanity of having longer hair and the practical need to keep it out of the way most of the time. Her brother sometimes teased her by calling her "Stinger". Mae finally had acquiesced that the nickname was probably appropriate, especially given her skills with ranged weaponry.

Wonder what this is all about, she mused. The feel of this particular briefing was different, somehow. Her sharp eyes swept the room, taking in her fellow flight officers. Some she'd known for years, others only a handful of weeks. No droids, she realized with an inquisitive arch of eyebrow. That was interesting. Not that she or Ty had to worry at the moment. Both of theirs were back in quarters. Mae's BB droid, Bumble, was getting an oil bath. A necessary endeavor since the droid, as usual, had ended up bumbling into something (this time a drinks cart in the mess hall) and dumped the lot all over the place.

For the best, she decided. Squadron droids never cared for being left out.

Mae felt a nudge from her brother and glanced to where she felt his attention pointed.

"New pilot?" she murmured after seeing a girl quietly observing from the back of the briefing room. "This meeting is getting more interesting all the time."

My horse's feet are as swift as rolling thunder,
He carries me away from all my fears;
And when the world threatens to fall asunder,
His mane is there to wipe away my tears.
~Bonnie Lewis

Vaylen's leather wrapped feet hardly made a whisper of noise as he moved down the corridor. It was how he preferred to traverse not only through physical locations but also through life: as a quiet observer more so than an active participant.

The leather foot wraps were a relic from his previous life, carrying with them a sense of archaic style and function, which made for a strange contrast with the modern and utilitarian mechanic coveralls he wore. Even though they were a reminder of his past, he still took an odd comfort from them, accepting that his past would always be a part of him.

He passed a contingent of enlisted personnel, chatting amongst themselves, who quieted slightly as they moved by, but otherwise showed no indication that they knew him, or even recognized him as an officer in his dressed down clothing. He didn't mind; he was one pilot in one squadron among many. Some of the Green Squadron pilots had reached a level of reputation that they were minor celebrities in certain circles, but Vaylen had not risen to that level of accomplishment yet.

So much for complete anonymity. He thought with a touch of wry even as he returned the salute. I suppose being a heavily tattooed Twi'lek in a predominantly human group disposes me to be recognizable, at least to those who aren't completely unobservant.

"Good day. I am sorry, I do not know your name." Vaylen paused briefly in front of the man, who looked mildly surprised at the statement.

It took the security officer a fraction of a second to realize Vaylen intended to get his name. He pulled himself up a little straighter, his blue eyes staring focusing on nothing."Officer Lendis, sir."

Vaylen nodded once, as though the name met some sort of unknown grading rubric. "Officer Lendis then. Good day." Vaylen gave one more nod and entered into the Flight Ops room without further delay.

The Flight Ops Room was filling quickly with Green Squadron members. It was a multipurpose room, but was well suited to briefings with its shallow amphitheater style seating and large holoprojector dominating the central focus of the room. The walls were the typical starcruiser white, giving every an almost sterile, though this look was softened a bit with a smattering of New Republic emblems and art on the walls, as though the occupants might need reminders of where their allegiances laid.

Vaylen's moved towards a vacant seat, trying not to miss a detail of his fellow pilots as he did so.

Nearest to the door was a woman he did not recognize. She looked young and had a sort of nervous energy about her that implied both inexperience and eagerness to displace that inexperience. Vaylen considered briefly introducing himself, but decided with the meeting's start being eminent, it would be best to wait until after.

A few rows up sat the twins, Ty and Mae. They were often inseparable, despite the gulf of personality that separated them. Not that Vaylen knew them all that well, but it seemed he was always hearing stories of Ty's hijinx and Mae's efforts to prevent such hijinx. Perhaps it was merely a case of Mae being better at getting away with her hijinx, whereas Ty usually found himself in the hotseat for them.

Next he saw Jess, and gave her a nod. He had always felt he had a fair bit in common with her, as she seemed to take more solace in the company of droids and machines than people. Vaylen had never quite be able to place whether this was because she was actually more comfortable with machines, or if she was just more uncomfortable with people. Either way, she treated droids with respect, and that was enough for Vaylen to respect her in turn.

Vaylen turned at the sound of the door opening and saw Alek Riven and Wrench, the Chief Mechanic, and gave a bow of his head in Wrench's direction. Alek, he did not know so well, but the man seemed pleasant company and had yet to display anything but an even temperament, so he got a friendly, if slightly less reverent, nod.

And Wrench... Well, Vaylen had tremendous respect for the chief mechanic's skill, and there was even something of a usually good natured rivalry between them when it came to diagnosing and fixing unusual problems that cropped up on occasion. That being said, the two of them had already butted heads a few times, mostly when Wrench became frustrated with something and began banging and ripping electrical components, actions Vaylen found crude and offensive. Still, the two of them usually made up after the fact, now Vaylen could say with first hand experience, butting heads with a Wookie is always a loud and sometimes painful experience.

Vaylen liked to think he had earned at least a bit of the Wookie's respect with his own mechanical prowess. Vaylen might not have been the best pilot in Green Squadron, although that was hardly a detraction given the company he was with, but he probably was the best mechanic outside of Wrench attached to the Squadron.

Vaylen took his seat, wrapping his lekku about his neck like a scarf as he did, settling in as he waited for meeting to start. With any luck, it would be short, productive, interesting, or any combination of those three.

To'ran looked at the monitor of the slowly filling Flight Ops room next door from the anti-room he and Jax was sitting in. He was constantly tugging on the high-necked collar of his new captain's uniform, hating the stiff feeling of it, and already feeling the weight of the captain's insignia's on the collars.

Jakob stood next to him grumbling about the ship list he was perusing on a datapad that he held in his hands. "That Bothan must have mange on the brain, he can't be serious about this group of ships. This ship..." He pointed to the pad. "...is over 60 years old, and hasn't had a refit in 20!"

"Your father and I worked with worse Jax." To'ran half-smiled back at him.

"Yeah, I know." A shadow seems to cross over his face as Jakob looks towards To'ran. "He's still retired."

To'ran sees the resentment, but swallows his next words for another time. He holds Jakob's stare until the younger officer turns his attention back to the datapad. Inwardly he had hoped that the old resentment had been buried after all these years, but it is obviously out of sight, but 'very' near the surface.

He turns his attention back to the monitor at the eclectic group of pilots and smiles slightly. How this team ever was so successful he surely didn't know, but the fact was that next to Rogue Squadron, this group was the best in the services...and he would be willing to bet a months pay that they could even best Rogue.

"Looks like they are all here...Captain." Jax states, his usual smarmy demeanor returning. "You ready?"

"No, but that usually is the battle cry for this fleet." To'ran smiles. "Let's see what we'll see."

The two of them entered through the side door, and all members hopped up on their feet and saluted and then broke out into good-natured hoots and insults when they noticed To'ran's new rank and command uniform.

"Suck up!" Sterling shouted.

"We're going to have to widen the bulkhead doors so he can get his head through them!" Otsoa laughed.

The rest of the Squadron mixed in their own shouts of congratulations, mixed with insults. To'ran merely stood at the console before them, and allowed them to get it out of their systems. When it started dying down, he looked at Otsoa. "You're looking a little green around the gills Fishhead...sit down." To'ran stated in his usual 'start of the meeting' retort. Everyone laughed and chuckled, then took their seats, still mumbling and muffling laughter at To'ran's new rank.

To'ran gathered his thoughts for moment, which the rest of the squadron quickly picked up on. They could sense there was more to this meeting than the usual post tour report. To'ran took a moment and looked over each and every one of them, making eye contact with each member, and not disregarding any of them. The room now was completely quiet, and smiles slowly disappeared from everyone's face.

"I'm going to start off this meeting with the fact that this meeting is completely off the record. However it ends, and whatever decisions you make after, I will personally not take it as a slight. In this room right now, at this moment, we are all equals."

Now the captain had everyone's attention, as they all sat up in their seats, their eyes all looking at To'ran with intense interest.

"The Red Dagger Fleet, as we have known it...is no more." Stated bluntly and matter of factly. "It has come down upon high, namely Senator Scendi, that the RDF has served its purpose, valiantly I might add, but that due to the military budgetary cuts, she will never be an strong as she once was...or ever again."

This statement illicited the expected response of several angry protests and questions.

"This is Bantha Shit!"

"Are they breaking up the squadron?!"

"I think we need to have some practice bombing runs near the Senator's home!"

To'ran merely stood at the podium and allowed them all to vent their frustration. His emerald green eyes staring forward with no hint of chastising them for their heart-felt anger. To him, this reaction was exactly what he was hoping for. Human, Twi'lek, Wookie, Urmaellian and all the rest alike, expressing their camaraderie and unity in one singular angry voice of outrage. In this sea of outrage he spied the newer recruits that were looking on in silent shock, and he had nothing but sympathy for how they must be feeling to be recruited into Green Squadron, only to be denied so early in their duty.

To'ran held up his arms and then suddenly pointed at Wrench, who was about to rip a console from it's wall slot. "Wrench! Pull that out, and you'll be cleaning the drain tubes in every refresher in the fleet!"

The hairy Wookie seemed to contemplate finishing what he started, versus the threatened punishment.

"Don't do it Wrench." Alek leaned over towards Wrench. "I'm not gonna be involved in scrubbing you down after you get done with that punishment. You know how hard it would be to get all that nastiness out of your fur?"

Wrench looked around at the rest of the squadron, that had fallen silent, as if asking any of the others if they would volunteer to clean him up if he did pull the console out. Some merely shook their heads in the negative, some just looked away, and even Jax found something interesting on the floor at his feet to study intently for the moment. Wrench gave a muffled and warbling grunt of disappointment and released the console.

"Now, be seated." To'ran stated and waited for them all to retake their seats. "To answer some of your questions. No, Red Dagger is not being taken away from me. No, Green Squadron is not being pulled apart and reassigned." A slight smirk crosses his lips, but disappears quickly. "Yes, it is Bantha Shit...and we will discuss later the merits of practice runs in the Senatorial District at a later date."

This response got the chuckles and smiles that he was looking for before he continued. "The Admiral has been 'ordered' to reassign various ships in the Red Dagger Fleet, most notably The Harm's Way and other capital ships, to various other systems under the auspices to provide extended protection of New Republic territories 'without' having to build new ships to do so."

"That makes no sense whatsoever." Vaylen stated impassively.

"No. No it doesn't." To'ran replied with a nod. "And the Admiral stated that most directly to Senator Scendi, who is the head of the Arms Committee. The Senator, in all his questionable judgement, also 'did' want to break up the Green Squadron, but the Admiral stated in his own particular fashion that the Senator could perform a reverse act of penetration on himself before he would allow that to happen."

To'ran waited until the laughter and shouts of approval were subsiding before holding his hands up to regain their attention. "With that said, the Red Dagger Fleet still lives, but will be altered in size and equipment for the foreseeable future, the Admiral himself has seen to that...But." He watched as some of them leaned forward into their seats, sensing that there was something more to the Captain's speech. "But...the Admiral, in his infinite wisdom, is a being that likes to 'plan ahead'.

He pauses for a moment, as if to collect his thoughts, and then leans down and rests upon his elbows on the podium. "Listen, we're all smart people in this room when he disregard rank. We can see, we know what is coming. The Republic is getting drunk on the peace that we have afforded ourselves for over 20 years now. It is getting lackadaisical with its defenses, and disillusioned itself that the peace will last forever. Pockets are being filled under the table, and the time is coming when our enemies will strike when we least expect it."

"The Admiral is going to have none of this. He is not going to allow the Republic's own greed and delusions to destroy all that our fellow brothers and sisters have died for. The Red Dagger Fleet stands for defending the Republic and denying our enemies their victories, and let's face it, if Green Squadron could make a Bantha fly like a starfighter, they would still be the best damn squadron in the Republic military. Together we are an unstoppable team and to hell with the Senator and his unscrupulous and suspicious acts!"

Roars of approval and cheers erupted, and again To'ran waited for them to subside before continuing. "Now, with that said, the Admiral has a plan in place, he has provided us a new home, a new 'fleet'. Our orders are to head towards the Unknown Regions and seek out our enemies. The Imperials are still out there in some form or fashion. We've heard the rumors about this First Order, and we need to see if there is any truth to them as well. But..."

Again he waits for their undivided attention. "But...there is more to this order. More in the fashion that we will have our own agenda, our own means to do what must be done. Defend the Defenseless, Right the Wrongs against the innocent. We will be 'on our own' in a fashion that I will not get into at this point."

He stands up straight, at full attention, and clasps his hands behind his back, staring at each of them in turn. "There is a shuttle awaiting to take us to our new home at Docking Bay 4." He holds up a hand to pause them in their decision. "But, I am not 'ordering' any of you to go until I say this much. "We will be 'Off the Reservation', on this one. I would go so far to say that our actions could be seen by higher officials as treasonous and your lives and positions in the Republic military could be placed in jeopardy. With that said, this is 'not' an order. It is a request by me and the Admiral himself. If any of you decide that you do not wish to participate in this endeavor, neither of us will hold it against you." He looks over the squadron standing before him one last time. He snaps a crisp and highly respectful salute to them, which they return in earnest.

"The shuttle leaves at 0900." He states and looks at Jakob with a nod, and steps out of the room.

Jessica couldn't believe what she was hearing. She had joined the military to fight the First Order and now her dreams of avenging her family were cut tragically short after one tour by some shortsighted bureaucrat. The First Order was dangerous, no one knew that better than her. She would fight them herself if she could but luckily she didn't have to. The Admiral's 'request' was just the opportunity she needed to finally see her revenge to fruition. She stood from her chair and left the room without saying a word to any of the other pilots. She had already made up her mind and didn't need to hear what anyone else had decided.

Outside in the hallway Nimbus was waiting for her and as soon as he saw her he bombarded her with a series of questions. Jessica simply headed it off by walking straight past the little droid and down the hallway towards her rack. Nimbus followed her and whistled an inquiry.

"No, nothing's wrong," she said, "Finally everything is right. We're finally going to take the fight to the First Order."

Nimbus chirped in celebration but then noted the pensive look on her face and whistled something else.

"Well, we may just be, you know--court-martialed, if we're lucky," she said with a shrug, "but the Republic is never going to see the First Order for what it really is. Meet me at Docking Bay 4 at 0900. There'll be a shuttle waiting there to take us to our new home," she told him and then she continued on without him in silence...

“Just don’t be late.” Mae said to her brother. She stood to leave, but felt the heaviness of Ty’s heart. She placed her hand on Ty’s shoulder.

“0900, I wouldn’t miss it.” He responded. Mae removed her hand and walked out of the room.

Tyköl sat in the Ops room as many of the other pilots slowly made their way to the exit. He looked around at the equipment in the room. Most of it was at least 2 decades old. The New Republic had failed to keep up any form of military standards.

It was the old equipment that told him he needed to leave. The New Republic did not have their best interest in mind. But Green Squadron—His squadron, had the opportunity to make a difference.

But—Treason—

This was not a small word. Even if they never got caught. What he was doing, was stamping a one-way ticket. Making a decision that would impact him, his sister, and any offspring either of them would have.

He knew some good pilots who had joined the resistance. No longer taking orders from the New Republic, but instead bringing the fight to the First Order. But was this his fight.

Tyköl sat still for a long while. Thinking through his options, and what he should do moving forward. As he looked at the ground, he saw to boots stop directly in front of him. Looking up, To’ran stood there with a serious face.

“Are you thinking about Naboo?” He asked Ty.

“Yes, and my family, populists living among a people who are mostly centrists. They don’t know who they can trust. And I don’t know if they will trust us after this.”

To’ran stood tall and a smile crossed his face, “They believe in their kids. And they know you will make the decision to follow your heart. That’s why you’re in this squadron in the first place.” He paused and started walking away, “Do what you believe is best.”

Tyköl thought to himself. What is best. Fighting in the unknown regions, while his parents will surely hear of his treasonous ways.

“What should I do.” He mumbled to himself.

We stick together, like always.

His could feel his sister’s comfort, knowing they would fight together no matter where the fight was.

Willy, Tyköl’s R6-WLE astromech, buzzed and twirled a series of responses.

“Yes, thanks for the reminder Willy. Bring my stash, but keep it hidden from the guards. I’ll pick it up from you before we leave.”

A few beeps later, and the comlink went silent.

Protect the galaxy. A mission true to his heart- But from whom? Evil- Who defines evil? The First Order- Do they even exist at the level the rumors say? The New Republic- Can we trust those so willing to disarm us?

Green Squadron will protect the galaxy, no matter the threat.

I’m in. With that simple thought, he could feel his twin relaxing. She was worried, but Tyköl just had to think it through.

As a 17 year veteran of the Squadron, Lieutenant Dutari had witnessed and survived a multitude of posture changes and regime shifts... The Urmaellian's seinale slowly raised upward in a sign of cautious deliberation... This was different. This wasn't simply a shift in the rules of engagement, or a compromise in mission parameters. Otsoa had been friends with Captain To'ran for quite some time, and as such he knew the officer chose his words very carefully. The tone of this briefing was one of history being made, of the kind of choice you don't come back from.

He had held his salute until To'ran had left the room, then took his seat once more. In a series of well practiced movements his post patrol cigar, well the remaining third of it anyway, found itself from shoulder pocket to mouth. The Urmaellian struck a match off the thigh of his flight suit and slowly puffed the cigar back to life. The warm notes of harvest spices, Laroon Wood, pepper, and nerf hide flooded his senses... the flavors complex, yet harmonious. Just as the mixture seemed to peak, a pleasant creamy essence chased them all away and lingered behind, ushering in a sense of relaxation and calm after the storm. Dutari exhaled, the cigar smoke spiraling towards the ceiling. The Shento Quattro F61 was truly a piece of art.

From the corner of his field of vision, Otsoa saw one of the squadrons newest pilots Jess leave the briefing room her body language that of someone who had set their mind to task. The Lieutenant took a mental note of that, before slouching further into his seat and casting a measured gaze across his remaining squadmates. A hell of a thing to ask of a soldier, to disobey that entity to which they had sworn allegiance, even if it was done for an obviously greater good… He took another long drag from the cigar before turning to see if Teller had followed in To’rans wake.

"Courage is not simply one of the virtues, but the form of every virtue at the testing point." - C. S. Lewis

Vaylen sat stock still, fingers steepled together and eyes staring into nothing following the shocking announcement. He had been expecting an announcement of some sort to happen, but... nothing like this.

Subconsciously, he already knew he would be getting on that shuttle at 0900, but even with that foreknowledge, his conscious mind scrambled to rationalize why he would be on that shuttle.

Always the 'why' questions..

It didn't make any sort of sense. Without the backing of the New Republic, no fleet could possibly hope to make a meaningful offense against the Imperial remnants. Fleets needed resupplying; food, fuel, munitions. These things costed money, not to mention repairs and replacement of casualties. There were obviously a thousand details they were not privy to, and the only conclusion Vaylen could come to was that this was essentially an entire Black Ops division: independent, deniable, and funded under the table.

I wonder if I still continue to collect a paycheck. Does this affect my retirement account? He sighed slightly, leaning back in his chair. The 'why' question was actually fairly simple in this particular case. Soldiers may pledge loyalty to nations and governments and may go to war over patriotism, but the reason they fought, the reason they kept fighting, was their brothers and sisters in arms. If Commander Teller was going to fight their enemies with the newly made Captain To'ran, then Vaylen knew he was going to follow, and he doubted the others would think differently.

Lunshei, protect me. Vaylen closed his eyes momentarily as he gave his terse prayer, then opened him again as he caught the distinctive scent of a particular cigar brand.

He turned to see Lieutenant Dutari sitting behind him, casting his eyes about the room, apparently looking for someone. Otosa was one of the more veteran members of the Squadron, and had been with the New Republic during the formative years. He was one who Vaylen respected the opinion of. Vaylen half turned to address him. "What do you think, Lieutenant? Is following someone into unknown danger a sign of loyalty or lack of independent thought?"

He hadn't yet gotten Teller's attention before one of his other squad mates broke words with him. Otsoa considered Vaylen's inquiry briefly before his seinale flailed out to either side in the showing of a mirthful grin. The older pilot pulled the cigar from his mouth and shifted his focus to Vaylen.

“A conundrum, Vaylen, to be sure. I will say this, we have a… how do you say… adage? Idiom? Anyway one of those back home in the Array: ‘If the words don’t add up, it’s usually because the truth wasn’t included in the equation.’ We were given two equations today, that of Senator Pouresk and his committee lackies, and that of Admiral’s and Captian To’ran.”

The Urmaellian paused there, taking the moment to quickly glance beyond Vaylen to a few of the other pilots that seemed to be hearing their conversation and then took another drag from the cigar.

“Which one do you feel balanced the scale in your heart?” he continued, pointing towards the other pilots midsection, the seinale on the right side of his face perked up inquisitively.

"Courage is not simply one of the virtues, but the form of every virtue at the testing point." - C. S. Lewis

Kraven O'Malek had just listened to Admiral Damus tell him what he had just told To'ran.

"No," he said, a look of mixed shock and happiness. "Really?"

Damus nodded, turning to face away from him and beginning to walk down the hall back towards the bridge.

"Docking bay 4, 0900," Damus said, stoppid, his voice sounding like music to Kraven's ears after what he had just said. "Don't be late, I'll tell To'ran that you are with us."

He thought about what happened, and it reminded him of more simple times. Just Green Squad vs world, smashing warlord factions left and right, hunting down those pesky imperials. But things had changed. He was promoted to Black Ace Leader, commander of the obsure Black Ace squadron, then to commander of Black Flight. Sure, he was one of the greatest aces in the NR, straight from Green Squadron, and a rising star in the command, but it was hard. He left most of his friends behind, like Jakob and Wrench, but he still saw them from time to time. Not on a friend basis, but more on a basis of meetings or seminars. It got worse when he got promoted commander, as part of fighter command for the fleet.

But what Damus said gave him new hope. Not in the New Republic, no, with their fancy senators and lavish balls, all of the funding to things like that. Sure, maybe that was an important part of all of this peaceful, democratic bantha shit but it was different to him. As a child, he heard stories about the empire and even witnessed their evil legacy in destroying the last few warlord and imperial factions. As long as they still existed, out there terrorizing the innocent in any way shape or form, the New Republic shouldn't be worried about diplomacy. And his opinion couldn't be changed, no matter how much those meddling diplomats tried to convince him, no sirree.

Kraven did a quick salute, then returned to his quarters. He didn't really keep anything of value in there, just a few uniforms and around 5 thousand credits. He gathered up all of the credits he could find, got his custom flight jacket on, the nice flight cap that went with it, and headed for the door. He had everything he really needed already on him. He looked down a the combat belt he wore at all times, even when in casual or day dress, and his trusty custom S-5 blaster pistol.

Strutting down the hallway, feeling pretty happy, he bumped into somebody and their BB unit. He recognized one of them, the rookie Green Squadron pilot who almost opened fire on a damaged NR diplomatic cruiser. He just didn't remember her name.

"Sorry about that, uh," Kraven said, inquiringly.

"War isn't about dying for your country, it's about making the other bastard die for his." - General George S. Patton

"Jessica," Jess replied reflexively then she saw the rank on his uniform and quickly snapped to attention and threw him a salute. "I mean Flight Officer Sterling, Sir!"

Kraven returned the salute. "At ease, Sterling," he said.

Jessica stood at parade rest but it still felt awkward. Of all the people to bump into her it had to be a superior officer. She looked passed him down the hall hoping to find a way out but instead she caught sight of Nimbus turning the corner. The little rat left her behind. That jerk, she grumbled to herself.

No matter how many times she had to complete the task, Mae hated packing. Didn't matter if it was for a year, a month, or a day-trip, she would always somehow both overpack everything and still miss the one thing she ended up needing. Her twin on the other hand, packed the most random-seeming assortment and still never wanted for anything.

Her lips pressed together into a thin line as she glanced around her small quarters. Bumble warbled an inquiry, rolling about in a small circle.

"WHAT DOING?"

"Just making sure I haven't forgotten anything critical."

"I HELP."

"No, it's okay. I'm almost done."

Its roll became more insistent and sure as it bumped her leg in the cramped space.

"I HELP."

She dropped a gloved hand affectionately on Bumble's domed top. "Okay. Take a quick scan against our belongings inventory. Cross-check with any requirement lists that may be making its way through the quartermaster on unofficial channels." Not that she expected there to be, but it would keep the persistently helpful droid occupied while she grabbed the last few things. A few momentos such as family holos, a trinket or two, some pretty geode crystals she sort of collected... A small pile of things that summed up her personal life outside of her career. All of them were carefully tucked away in the oversize duffel bag.

Beside that bag was a hard-shelled carrying case, long of length but fairly narrow. It had both a handle for carrying and a shoulder strap. Inside, nestled like a prize jewel in a velvet ring box, was what set Mae apart from her squadron mates. A modified BlasTech E-11s blaster rifle. A weapon of choice amongst sharpshooters, marksmen, and Imperial snipers. Mae always found it deliciously ironic that an Imperially favored rifle would only find those same Imperials caught in its targeting scope.

Schooled in ranged weaponry by her mother, a champion marksman in her own right, Mae had known the snug comfort of a rifle tucked against her shoulder or resting on her back for well over two decades, with an ease and close familiarity that most people reserved for relationships. Which probably said several things about her psyche, but Mae wasn't keeping track. It was a little late for that now anyway, she thought wryly. Since anyone with an ounce of sense or self-preservation wouldn't be jumping aboard at ship at 0900 and forsaking any chance of a normal life.

"When have we ever been normal?" she felt her brother interject. Mae gave a mental shrug and hefted first her rife case, then the duffle. Bumble bounced around the room a bit more before satisfied that nothing important remained. Like its namesake, the small droid bumbled along like the Maleesian bumble bees, seemingly too fat and fuzzy to fly but somehow they still defied gravity as they zigged and zagged clumsily but steadily among the flowers. She still remembered a joke her father had once told her about the ill-sized insects, while, in her childlike innocence, she pet one of the fuzzy creatures that landed on a bud.

How come the bumbles can fly? Because no one ever told them they couldn't.

A small jest, perhaps, but Mae had taken the advice to heart through the years. It had helped drive her to become a marksman, a pilot.. And led her to apply to Green Squadron all those years ago.

"Ready Bumble?"

"READY. I HELP?"

Flipping her braid back over her shoulder again, Mae settled the rifle strap more comfortably on her shoulder.

"Lead the way."

My horse's feet are as swift as rolling thunder,
He carries me away from all my fears;
And when the world threatens to fall asunder,
His mane is there to wipe away my tears.
~Bonnie Lewis

Kraven smiled, remembering looking at her logs after she had been punished. A lucky, skilled, and reckless hotshot pilot, just like him. It had only been a few short years ago he was just like her. Just a few short years. He made himself sound old, but he was only in his twenties.

Jessica resisted the urge to make a face. She didn't quite appreciate the humor as he apparently did. She'd been crawling in and out of ion vents for the better part of three weeks and didn't really consider that something to poke fun at.

"Forgive me, Sir, but I'm being reassigned," she told him with a confused look on her face. She wasn't quite sure what his intent was.

"Sorry Sterling," He'd say, in a more serious tone. "It was one hell of a punishment. But reassigned? Where to?" He thought he'd see if she had a good story or excuse, even though he knew that she was in GS and knew the plan.

"War isn't about dying for your country, it's about making the other bastard die for his." - General George S. Patton

Jess was looking over his shoulder again hoping beyond hope that something would be there to pull her away. Unfortunately there was nothing and she shifted uncomfortable on her feet. "I appreciate the sentiment, Sir," she told him, "but I have no kills. I've not participated in any combat ops and on my first tour I was disciplined by my superior officer."

She glanced over his shoulder one more time and nervously checked her chrono.

"Thank you, Sir," Jessica replied and she flashed him another salute before bolting down the hallway. She was still a bit peeved that Nimbus had gone off and left her there alone with the Commander but right now she had more important things to worry about. Once she was inside her room she quickly threw everything she owned inside a dufflebag. Most of her possessions were destroyed in the raid on her home so she didn't really have much to begin with. After she tossed everything away she took one last look around to make sure she didn't forget anything then she struggled with the zipper until she had managed to get it closed. Had she folded everything neatly it probably wouldn't have been such a hassle, but in packing she didn't pay any particular attention to neatness.

Once the bag was zipped up she quickly threw it over her shoulder and headed towards the door. She paused briefly just before stepping outside and took one last look around the now empty room. For several months this place had been her home, but now she was embarking on an adventure from which there was no coming back. The Republic would no doubt label them as traitors but it didn't matter what people thought so long as they brought the fight to the First Order. This was the right move to make, she knew that. So why did she feel so uneasy about it? Was she rushing into this too quickly? She shook her head to clear it then deliberately turned and headed out into the hallway in the direction of Docking Bay 4.

Jaclen just sat there, stunned. She had just been assigned to Green Squadron, and now it was over? She could feel the anger well up in her; how dare the New Republic dissolve such a storied squadron for 'budgetary' reasons? She felt confused, hurt and angry all at the same time.

After Captain To'ran left, she studied everyone else. It seemed obvious that they were as stunned and confused at his words as she was. Well, some of them; at least a couple of them left the room, looking set on catching the shuttle.

She honestly didn't know what to do. The thoughts were racing through her mind, counting pro and cons for taking the shuttle. On one hand, she had sworn an oath of loyalty to the New Republic, but would taking the shuttle really be violating that oath? She would still be fighting for freedom, for everything the New Republic stood for – or used to stand for. And what would her parents think? But in her heart, she knew they'd support her if they knew the truth.

She shuffled in her seat, and felt the duffel bag beside her.

At least I wouldn't need to pack. She couldn't help smiling at the thought.

She was still sitting there after there after everyone else had left the room, contemplating her course of action. Then she stood, checked her sidearm – an old DL-44 her father had given her - threw her duffel bag over her shoulder, and headed towards the shuttle.

Alek let out a deep breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. A few of his squad mates followed Captain To’ran out of the briefing room immediately, but Alek lingered with those remaining, turning the idea over in his head, trying to get a handle on what he’d just heard.

’...our actions could be seen by higher officials as treasonous...’ Those had been the Captain’s words, but did that mean if he got on the shuttle he would be breaking his oath to the Republic? That he would be going rogue?

He ran a hand through his slightly longer than regulation length brown hair. He knew the answer to his own question immediately. ‘This is 'not' an order,’ To’ran had said, It is a request by me and the Admiral himself. No matter how much Alek might have wanted to fool himself, there was no technicality to hide behind. Getting on that shuttle meant to all intents and purposes renouncing his oath to the Republic and leaving the military.

He looked to the back of the room where Wrench still stood, glaring at the offending console he’d been prohibited from venting his anger on. The Wookie looked back at him, his deep brown eyes for once betraying his age. The Wookie was well past a hundred, over four times Alek’s age; he’d seen the tyranny of the Empire first hand, suffered under the Emperor’s prejudices. By contrast Alek had grown up in a relatively peaceful galaxy, all he knew were the stories his father had told him about the war and the Rebellion.

Abruptly Wrench turned away and stalked from the room. Alek had a feeling the Wookie would be on the shuttle.

What would you do, Dad? he wondered to himself.

A slow smile spread across his face as he again realised he’d answered his own question. Cal Riven, a one time member of Green Squadron, had faced the same choice as his son many years ago. He’d been an Imperial Pilot once. He’d sworn an oath. And he’d left the Empire to do what he believed was right.

As the sweet smell of cigar smoke wafted across the room, Alek realised he’d already made his decision. He wasn’t stupid, he could see the danger the Republic was in, the complacency that had settled over the galaxy. Just because things were peaceful right now didn’t mean they would stay that way.

He’d been with Green Squadron for just under a year. They were a strange bunch, there was a distance between most members of the squadron and it was hard to identify why. In combat, on manoeuvres, that distance seemed to shrink to almost nothing, yet once back at base it opened up again. He wouldn’t abandon them though and perhaps this new assignment might help break down some of the invisible barriers that existed.

Alek got to his feet, pausing momentarily to listen to Veylen and Otsoa. There was a certain wisdom to the Urmaellian’s words and he knew which argument had balanced his scale.

“Gentlebeings,” he nodded to them in farewell as he passed by, “See you on the shuttle. Or not...”

"With no intended slight to the good Senator Pouresk, he is a politician, who uses his words as tools to accomplish his goals. Whether or not those words are true does not enter into his equation." The Twi'lek spoke with a faint smile, hinting that just maybe there was a small slight intended.

"I know that Captain To'ran cannot tell us the details of this endeavor yet. If he were to tell us, we would be forced to be complicit with his..." He almost said defection, but thought better of it, "unofficial assignment, regardless of whether or not we agreed to be part of it. So we must blindly follow a man who has yet to lead us astray and hope that he has already paved the way and taken care of the thousands of details that are critical to success."

Vaylen paused a moment, then continued. "I know what brings balance to my heart, as you say. But it is no small thing the Captain is asking, for complete and total trust. If we follow him and he fails at this, we will have lost our careers and possibly our freedom or lives. I am sure that over the years, the Captain has earned that trust in your eyes. I have only been here for a little over two years, and I feel that has been long enough to learn, if nothing else, he is honorable and not given to foolish decisions. Do you suppose the newer pilots, to whom he is little more than a uniform with a new insignia, will think he is a man worth risking their honor and livelihoods for?"

Kraven, having returned to his room and packing a small case with some clothes, made his way down to docking bay 4. There were a few benches around, and he decided to lay down on one of them, setting his briefcase down and closing his eyes. It reminded him of his earliest days when he was still in Green Squadron, performing guerrilla ops and acting independently with nothing but their fighters and what infantry weaponry they had. This First Order sounded pretty nasty, but we won't know for sure unless we go there ourselves. Of course, we'd get court martialed at best if we came back empty handed. Well, we'd get court martialed either way.

"War isn't about dying for your country, it's about making the other bastard die for his." - General George S. Patton

To'ran walked through the corridors of the base, his mind was a million parsecs away, and even missing the salutes from passing junior officers, and merely walking on by, not really due to his mind being preoccupied, but more due to not being use to his new rank yet.

He had shown his hand to the members of Green Squadron on what was coming, and truth be told, he wasn't completely sure what their individual decisions would be. He understood what loyalty was, and he knew that everyone of them did as well. But what he was asking of them went far beyond just the word and its general meaning. He was asking them to give up the careers that most of them had fought and bled for, for years. Possibly even being incarcerated and they're reputations destroyed. He wouldn't blame any one of them if they didn't step aboard the shuttle.

He rounded the corner into the docking bay and found Kraven lying on a couch, his eyes closed with a wistful smiled on his lips. 'No doubt dreaming of battles and victories.' To'ran thought to himself with a grimace.

He had received the comm message about this pilot, and he remembered him from days gone by, but to him, he was an unknown equation in this situation. He was unsure how the other members of Green Squadron would react to his being brought into the mix. He looked around the area, and found that they were alone, and stepped over to stand next to Kraven, who opened his eyes and found the Fleet Captain standing over him.

Kraven leapt to his feet, snapping a crisp salute and wincing slightly at being caught daydreaming. To'ran's emerald eyes stared at the commander for a long moment, for Kraven it must have seemed like an eternity with those piercing eyes seeming to be peering into his mind and reading him like a halonovel. People that had served with To'ran for many years forgot that he was quite an imposing figure of a man, standing nearly 6'4" with broad shoulders. It was a wonder that he even fit in a standard cockpit without modifications for his size.

To'ran finally returned Kraven's salute, and stood with his hands clasped behind his back, still scrutinizing the commander. "I remember you O'Malek." He began with a slight edge to his voice. "Hot Shot...'lucky'...Hot shot pilot. Swam up the ranks pretty fast and got your squad leader status with Black...not...Green Squadron. Something that you need to remember Commander."

He slowly began to walk around Kraven, who continued stand at stock still attention. When he got out of Kraven's sight behind him, a small smirk came across his lips. "I don't know what Admiral Damus sees in you, or the fact that he wanted you to come along on this 'mission', but I respect the Admiral's call...for the time being." He stated the last part of his statement directly into Kraven's ear, where he could feel the Fleet Captain's breath on it.

Returning his expression back to a grim face, he came back around to face the commander again. "But...you step out of line on this op, one crazy stunt, I'll snap you back so hard you'll will wish you were doing Bantha Manure transports on Naboo."

He allowed that to sink in for a second. "Remember, Commander Teller is the Squadron Leader of Green Squadron, and I won't have anyone questioning his orders, presuming to order his people aroudn, sowing dissension in the ranks, or kissassing and hot shotting their way up the chain of command."

"You are here as a courtesy to the request of a man that I deeply respect, but...that comes with the cravat that the Admiral also respects my decision on what to do with you. The Admiral got your foot in the door, it will be up to me whether you walk through it, or I slam the door shut on it."

"Do you have any questions about your status, and place, in the scheme of things here Commander? Or do I have to draw it on a chalkboard for you?"

Kraven swallowed. The distortion and wincing in his eyes made To'ran look even larger.

"No," Kraven said, shaking his head. "No, I think I understand my position, sir. You must remember that I was still once a Green Squadron Pilot, along with Teller. Even if there were something I didn't like about his orders, I know he has good judgement and decision making." Something in Kraven's head told him that that didn't come out of his mouth very smoothly, and that To'ran was going to chew him out for something else.

To Kraven, To'ran was like that really mean step-dad. He was the one that got the ball rolling for Kraven, and really got him interested in flying, but after that he grew a disliking for him. He didn't really know why, he thought himself somewhat similar to Teller, and he knew To'ran liked Teller. He decided to stow that thought away, because he'd probably say something and To'ran would fire him out of a turbolaser. But To'ran brought up a topic that he didn't really enjoy. Black Squadron. Because the NR thought they saw something in him, and Black Squadron was the worst in the whole fleet, they decided to transfer him over there and to squad leader, so that he could get them back to peak operating status. He did, but he couldn't get as far as he wanted to. Green Squadron always beat them in the flight simulators. They'd whittle eachother down to him on Black Squadron, and Teller and one or two others on Green Squadron. He could take out one or maybe even both of them, but not Teller. Its not that he was angry at him, more that he was angry at himself.

Those green eyes pierced his skull and read his thoughts, and he waited for To'ran to respond.

"War isn't about dying for your country, it's about making the other bastard die for his." - General George S. Patton

Jakob walked through the halls of the ship, eyes on the ground. His thoughts were mixed and mashed at the moment, and in a way he had been grateful that no one had asked him any questions at the meeting. He wasn’t sure what he would have said. What Damus wanted them to do, it was the right thing to do, but it meant doing some things that were wrong things to do. But the justification of doing wrong to d right, that was something difficult for Teller to reconcile. Maybe that was why Damus had set the time for the shuttle’s departure so soon. You barely had time to think everything through if you were going to make it. The old man was a Bothan at the end of the day and manipulative as the rest of them.

The soon to be former NR fighter pilot lifted his eyes as the door to his quarters opened. He paused before he stepped in, frowning.

“You know you’re supposed to knock before you just go into my room.”

“I did. You weren’t in.” The bothan said, his back to Teller, his eyes on a holo on the wall of Teller and his father. “Hands.” He said as Teller crossed the threshold.

Jakob rolled his eyes. “It was one time.”

“Hands.” Damus repeated as fur rippled.

Jakob held up his hands to prove that he had no partially melted chocolate or any other foreign substance. “I was five.”

“Old habits die hard. I should know. Also, I know who raised you.” Damus said. “How did everyone take it?” He asked, but Jakob knew what the man was really asking.

Jakob sat down in one of his chairs. “Everyone took it well. Actually everyone seemed to be jumping up for joy in their own way. I’ve got a bunch of sociopaths.” He said, as he looked around for where one of his bags were. “I don’t think much of them gave it much thought. Either they’re conditioned to take orders very well, which scares me to a degree, or they were already ready to basically mutiny, and my good looks and charm has been the only thing keeping them in check.”

“Which scares me.” Damus replied, throwing him a look over his shoulder. Jakob paused to beam up a smile. “And you?” He asked.

“We took oaths.” Jakob said, looking down at the ground. “We have civilian oversight for a reason. We can’t operate with this…discretion and no supervision. Otherwise we’re no better than the pirates and the rabble who terrorize people.”

“I’m counting on you to be that discretion.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t ask me, did you?” Teller said. “No, you had Mac give me a god damned order.”

The Bothan’s fur rippled as it usually did when he started to get annoyed. He turned finally to look at Teller. “You don’t have to get on the shuttle.”

“Yes I do. Even if I didn’t believe in what you want me to do, I took an oath. Not just to follow orders whether they come from Senators with dumb, horrible names or Bothan Admirals who helped raise me but don’t want to discuss anything ever. I promised to protect the other eleven people in the squadron, whoever they are, whether I like them or not.”

“Looking for chocolate or a grease spray or something.” Teller said, glaring at the Bothan who, to his credit, smirked back. “I should have let Sterling hit those Bothans. I think one of them was your cousin.”

“Admittedly, I am getting older, my patience for discussions like these is not what it used to be.” He said and when Jakob stared, Damus nodded. “I will also concede that it was not that much to begin with. You have to understand the position the New Republic is putting us in. The threats are out there. To deny them is foolishness. To acknowledge them, refuse to address them, and in some cases actively work in their favor is tantamount to treason, a breaking of the oath you keep referring you. These civil servants have done that.” Damus said, hands clasped behind his back. “They are choosing to do nothing. We have our choice to make.”

“But we’re becoming the outlaws.” Teller said.

“Better to be outlaws who can fight than to be whipping boys, hands tied behind them. You will be free to help people in a manner better than the one you currently have. Better than it by parsecs. It isn’t only the First Order either.” Damus said, sighing. “There are plenty of other groups out there too. Jakob, I’m tired of being crushed under the weight of greedy men who believe in nothing. I hate it. You are too. We have to change that.”

Teller nodded. “I don’t want to wake up one day to have forgotten what the why is. It’s not hard to hate. People, things, institutions, when they break your spirit and it seems like they take pleasure in watching you suffer. Hate is the only feeling that makes sense. But I know what hates does to a man. Tears him apart, turns him into something he’s not. Something he promised himself he’d never become.”

“Your father has another saying I’m quite fond of.” Damus said, knowing where Jax had gotten his words from. “He used to say it to people during the war to remind them of what they were doing. Worked on me a few times. Back then we had to be pirates sometimes. He used to say, ‘Every day is a new box. You open it, you take a look at what’s inside. You’re the one who determines if it’s a gift or a coffin.” Damus said as he started to make his way for the door.

“That was good.” Teller said. “Shit, it was.”

“Your father is a smart man.” Damus said, as he reached the door. “But you have to surpass him if you’re going to do this right. The table, Jakob.” He said and stepped out.

Teller looked at the table and finally noticed that on it was a small box, opened. Captain bars were in the the box.

Do you suppose the newer pilots, to whom he is little more than a uniform with a new insignia, will think he is a man worth risking their honor and livelihoods for?"

Otsoa's seinale curved inward as he carefully considered the Twi'lek's question. The Urmaellian did his best to put himself in the younger pilots shoes. What would he have done, fifteen some odd years ago, if a similar request had been put to him. For Otsoa, honor was something he defined in himself. Making a tough call for the right reasons would not tarnish that... but to risk livelihood? Well that was certainly a much more complicated question.

A long pull on the Shento brought Dutari back to the present. He noticed that the room had all but cleared out, then focused his attention back to Vaylen. "It's hard to say. Few souls find their way onto the coveted call sheet of Green Squadron without an axe to grind. I would wager many of our current roster wish to grind that axe into what is left of the Empire their forebearer's have told them about. I suspect even a gentlebeing of such measured temperament as yourself has his own reasons for wearing our uniform..." He paused, taking a moment to gather himself before rising to his feet.

Otsoa walked around the other pilot, pausing on his way to the door to place a hand on his shoulder. "Each of us will need to weigh our baser desires against the risks the future may hold. Berriro bete arte." He finished around the cigar in his mouth, then he departed the briefing room. There was much to be done.

"Courage is not simply one of the virtues, but the form of every virtue at the testing point." - C. S. Lewis

To'ran stood staring at Kraven for several long, uncomfortable, moments then a broad smirk broke out on his lips. "You never could stand being dressed down." He clapped Kraven on the shoulder, still trying to contain his mirth. "I'm sure that Jax can use all the help that he can get. Just remember one thing though, he 'is' the leader of Green. The past is the past, we can't go back, we can only move forward."

He waited for Kraven to come out of his stupor, and then cocked a thumb over his shoulder towards the shuttle. "Now, get in there and prep for the jump to our new fleet."

To'ran then faced forward and waited for the next member of Green to come down the gangway to greet.

Mae walked briskly down the corridor, keeping a careful eye on her BB unit as it enthusiastically zigzagged between droids and personnel, the magnetic hum of its propulsion making it seem even more like a bumble bee.

'TY AND WILLIE NOT HERE YET'

"They will be soon," she reassured the droid. Mae was a chronic early-arriver; for her, early was on time, on time was late, and late was unforgivable.

Readjusting the shoulder strap of her blaster case to a more comfortable position, Mae turned the last corridor and entered the main bay. She stopped on the threshold for a moment, feeling the blood rush beneath her skin as her heart rate spiked. Life was full of moments like these, but most people plundered on through them, never realizing them for what they truly were. Forks in the road, diverging and stretching on separately to different horizons. Maybe at some point those roads would intersect again, or merge with others, but it wouldn't be the same. Mae knew that once she stepped on board that shuttle, she wouldn't be the same. Nor would Ty.

Bumble warbled an inquiry but Mae didn't answer just yet. Instead she took a deep breath, let it out slowly. Her reasons for leaving the fleet, the NR military were held tight within her. Loyalty, for certain. A black-and-white view of the galaxy was another. Buried deeper, maybe even deeper than Ty suspected, was a nameless restlessness that Mae couldn't even begin to articulate. A need, a drive to be doing something different, to walk a different path. To take the fork in the road.

Squaring her shoulders, Mae lifted her chin and marched forward toward the shuttle.

To'ran was there waiting on the ramp. His features softened a bit when he saw her but stopped short of grinning. Most likely he knew where one twin went, the other would soon be following.

"Someone has to watch your backs," Mae commented as she stepped forward and snapped a salute. Bumble twittered next to her, spinning to a stop like a tipped gyro.

My horse's feet are as swift as rolling thunder,
He carries me away from all my fears;
And when the world threatens to fall asunder,
His mane is there to wipe away my tears.
~Bonnie Lewis

Ty was running down the corridor. He had received a message from a sentry guard that Willie was being held.

As he turned the corner, he ran into the guard. "I'm sorry,"

The scruffy older man looked down at Ty, "Is this your R6?"

'Um, Yes." Ty said looking down to Willie as he beeped a low sad beep.

"This astromech was caught trying to sneak into a private docking bay, and continued to refuse a detection scan."

Ty was happy, it meant Willie was able to grab it. He smiled and looked to the guard.

"Here you go," He handed the guard a holopad with his dorm key-lock information, "If you are confused about anything, head there. For now, Willy and I have to go."

The guard stepped in between Ty and the astromech.

Ty, appearing to submit pulled out his blaster and lifted it towards the guard with an open palm. The guard reached for the gun, and Willie bumped the guard in the leg from behind. The bump caused the guard to shift his balance. Ty used this opportunity to get a firm grasp on his gun and hit the guard in the his temple. The guard stumbled back towards the wall, as he did this, Ty ran towards him, used the guards body as momentum, and ran up the wall just enough to body slam the guard into the ground.

The guard coughed hard and tried reaching for his comlink.

Ty grabbed the comlink from the guard and looked down at him. "I have to go, but take it up with To'ran."

Ty quickly walked away with Willie right behind him.

What was that?

Oh nothing, just felt like a quick morning jog.

Ty walked into the docking bay and saw To'ran.

They nodded to each other as Ty began walking up the ramp.

To'ran looked off in the distance, as if he was being told something through his earpiece.

He held out his arm to stop Ty from entering the ship.

"Look, I'm sorry, but he was holding Willie up."

To'ran shook his head and looked in to see Mae waiting just a few feet from the ramp. "And who will watch his back?" To'ran said to Mae.

"I always do." She said giving a hard glance at Ty as he joined her in the ship.

To'ran looked between the two, shaking his head slightly, but with a slight smirk on his lips. He holds up his hand to the Security officer rushing up the corridor. "What ever it is he did, I'm sure he's sorry, and he was a little too exuberant about getting here."

"But he struck..." The officer began, but was cut short as he saw To'ran's emerald eyes turn into warning slits, and his normally serene face turns to stone.

"I will file a Disciplinary Report with his commanding officer Lieutenant...dismissed." To'ran stated, the last of which was clearly understood that the conversation was over.

To'ran watched the Lieutenant salute and crisply turn around and resume his post before again looking at the Twins, and then focusing directly at Ty. "You must like Refreshers."

Ty looked at him perplexed for a moment. "Come again Sir?"

"Ask Flight Officer Sterling, she'll fill you in on how its done." To'ran smirked slightly and then held out his hand first to Mae and then Ty. "Welcome to the Red Dagger. Now get your asses aboard and prep for departure."